'Fuck.'
Russia rubs his face, trying not to jump at the movement around him. Texas shoves his hat down on his head before swiftly walking out the back door, his face holding an expression that looked like he was glaring through tears. Several states follow him, New Mexico the closest behind him.
New Jersey takes New York's hand and pulls him into the kitchen. Delaware walks over to the table and swipes his hand across it, sending pins and fabric flying. The rest of the states leave, and Russia finds himself alone with Dixie.
Russia turns to Dixie, seeing Dixie partially curled into a ball, his face set in a forlorn expression.
"Dixie?"
Dixie puts his feet back to the floor and rubs his fist on his chest, flinching.
'Is he hurting himself?'
Russia looks closer before it clicks.
"(Sorry,)" Dixie signs, over and over again, tears pooling in his eyes.
"Why are you apologizing?" Russia asks quietly, looking around to find an otherwise empty room.
"You don't hear them crying?" Dixie asks, staring into space.
"What?"
"It's my fault everyone's so upset," Dixie says dejectedly, his head down, "This right here is why I wanted you to leave me with that thing."
"Leave you behind?" Russia asks, horrified.
"Of course," Dixie says matter-of-factly, waving his hand, "what else?"
"Do you know why they're upset?" Russia tries.
"Me."
"But why?"
Dixie doesn't answer.
"They are upset because they love you," Finland cuts in, leaning against the wall and her arm crossed across her chest, "and they're crying because they are afraid of losing you."
"And now Texas is gonna work himself to death because of this," Dixie says, pulling at his hair with his working hand.
"Wow," Finland says bluntly, "I wonder where he learned that."
"And he ain't even the only one," Dixie continues, his gaze far away, "and they're all gonna get hurt because of me. Hell, they already have been."
"Their dumb decisions aren't your fault," Finland says, sitting on a nearby chair, her fall unstable. She stared at the bandages around her missing arm for a moment before shaking her head. "Some of them don't have good coping. That can be helped, but you can't control that."
"And many probably only now realize how close they were to losing you," Russia adds.
"I would've been long gone if I wasn't this attached. I love them to pieces, every single one of 'em."
"And they love you," Russia comments.
Dixie laughs bitterly.
"They wouldn't be crying if they didn't," Finland adds in a monotone.
"Maybe they shouldn't," Dixie says, a smile made of glass shards stabbing into his cheeks.
"And you get to choose that?" Russia asks, "you get to choose who they love? Who they care about?"
"What? No!" Dixie replies, his eyebrows furrowed and his teeth bared, "I'd never do that to them. Never! They can love whoever they fucking want to."
"Then you don't get to choose if people love you or not," Finland says, staring at Dixie, "so you will have to accept that they love you."
Dixie's head falls to his chest and his shoulders hunch. He plays with his hands him his lap, pulling at the cast
"But why?" Dixie asks weakly, "I can't do nothing now. I'm... I'm fucking useless. I can't do nothing to help or protect them or anything." He laughs bitterly and stares at his hands.
"I guess I couldn't do too much anyways," he says, his forced smile falling to a hate-filled glare, "How could I be so fucking pathetic."
Finland snaps her fingers under his nose. Dixie's head whips up, and she grabs his chin. She forces his face toward hers, her eyes narrow and angry.
"Look at me," she demands.
Dixie complies, and she lets him go.
"I am not going to let you do this. You are being stupid," she says, staring into Dixie's eyes, "They all cherish you. They would follow you anywhere, and they trust you with their lives. You don't have a good past, but that does not define you now."
"But-"
"No. I'm not listening. You listen to me now. They love you, and that will not change."
"But they shouldn't! I caused so much pain. Most of the time, it's hard to believe they even wanna look at me, let alone trust me! I don't deserve this..."
"That is not something for you to determine," Finland says, finality in her tone.
"They decided how much they love you," Russia adds, "and they decided how much they trust you. It is not your choice to make. It does not matter what you think you deserve, they are allowed to choose what they want to do."
"But what if I..."
"What if you what? Fuck them over?" Finland asks, "Then they chose where to go from there, not you."
"And what if they do hate me?"
"We don't!" Delaware shouts from the table, spinning to face them, "we love you! And we get upset talking about everything because you got hurt. You! And we have to live with what we did to you, but that doesn't mean you deserved any of it!"
Delaware sniffles before collapsing into the table, his face in his hands. His shoulders shake, and Dixie stills.
"And a lot of the upset is coming from stress," Russia says, turning back to Dixie, "other stress. It isn't your fault."
"But I need to be doing something," Dixie says, putting his hands on the couch and planting his feet on the floor.
Finland takes him by the shoulder with her working hand after flailing with the remains of the other for a moment. Then, she pulls him deeper into the cushions.
"I don't think I can convince you otherwise," she says, "but you can't continue like this."
"Yes, I can. I have before, I can do it again. I ain't gonna let nothing stop me."
"We won't let you, and I'm sure Meri wouldn't either," Russia says.
"You are going to be sitting or laying down for the next few weeks," Finland demands.
"What! But-"
"No," Finland orders.
Russia watches Finland pull Dixie down, gears in his mind turning.
'He's not going to stay down.'
Dixie glares at Finland, his eyes filled with tears. His brows are furrowed, and his lips pursed. Finland stares back, unmoving, a scowl on her face and a hand on Dixie's shoulder.
Russia jolts as a thought takes hold.
'Organization!'
Russia looks between the two, and he sees Dixie begin to shake.
'Meri said that he's good at corralling people, but that Dixie is good at keeping track of everyone. And having security or jobs without organization is going to crash.'
"Dixie?" Russia begins.
Dixie jumps before facing him.
"How is this organized?"
"What? The house? ...it's not," Dixie replies, starting slowly with a furrowed brow, "I left before I could do nothing."
"Then how should it be organized?" Russia prompts.
Finland's face lights up with realization, and she glances at Russia with surprise. Russia offers a sheepish, nervous grin for the barest moment before returning his attention to Dixie.
"Well, I have churns in the barn and a whole bunch of fabric and leather working tools. I'm sure Colorado already found the rolls of leather. Texas is outside, making leather goods, hopefully shoes and bags, and curing the skins of the animals being killed for food. Utah is making soap, or he should be. Delaware is probably gonna be the head of textiles. Ohio is ..." Dixie continues on, and Russia finds himself instead focusing on Delaware and Finland focusing on him.
Delaware stares at Russia with stars in his eyes, and Finland's eyebrows seem to reach up to the hair that escaped her braid. Delaware smiles and then stands, running for the stairs.
Dixie only slows his talking as New Jersey and New York approach. New York holds a radio and several stacks of papers. New Jersey carries in markers, scribbled-over maps, and a lap desk that has two legs, one on either side that span the length of the desk with pockets in the legs.
"Can you write with your good hand?" New York asks as New Jersey hands over the desk.
"I can. It ain't gonna look the best though," Dixie replies, struggling with the desk before putting it around one of his legs.
"Would I be able to read it?" New Jersey asks, handing over what looks like pens.
Dixie nods, taking the supplies and dropping them on the desk
"Can you draw maps?" New York asks.
Dixie nods decisively. Then, he makes a grabbing motion with his casted hand. He takes the paper and a few markers, and instantly started filling in the space. Then, he continued talking.
"We need a schedule for food and breaks. A constant watch also can't hurt, but that's a shifted thing anyways. Good Lord, there is so much to do..."
New York hands over a clipboard before settling on the wood floor, sitting where the rug used to be, removing his leg and spreading out his papers. His papers are covered in scrawling of two different scripts, one readable and the other not. Dixie alternates between writing on the clipboard and filling in the map.
Russia can't help but watch in awe at the skill. With every flick of Dixie's wrist, landmarks appear on the page, some of which Russia is sure he could pick out through the window.
"It ain't my best work, but it'll have to work for now," Dixie comments, turning back to the clipboard.
Dixie takes it and props it up on his cast before writing a list, his writing clear enough for Russia to read if he was to try.
'Now to find Meri.'
Russia stares at the hallway.
'I hope I can help him.'